


Bold Strokes

by Face_of_Poe



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, M/M, One Shot, Professor George Washington, prissy twinks named Ben
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27084652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: Professor Washington is having IT problems that are proving strangely resistant to being resolved.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/George Washington
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	Bold Strokes

**Author's Note:**

> Was inspired to look through some old docs of random fic snippets and found a couple gems to post. Enjoy this absurd silliness.

When Professor Washington notices that a whole slew of the department’s shared files seem to have gone missing from the server, he fires an email off to the IT service desk in the basement and goes back to marking papers.

He’s still marking when he gets a response from one _A.Ham_ requesting his presence at the desk downstairs. So he sends his TA in his stead.

Tallmadge comes back twenty minutes later, utterly baffled, and informs him, “We might need to talk to the tech support office, Professor, the kid down there is a moron.” Washington cocks a cool brow until Tallmadge gets flustered and elaborates, “He just said, about five times, that he can’t see the issue even when I _showed him_ the issue, and suggested we should be more careful about deleting our files.”

He’s reasonably confident that no one _deleted_ anything, but he ventures across the hall to consult with the department chair once Dr. von Steuben returns from his one o’clock class.

Von Steuben is equally unsuccessful in retrieving any of their missing data, and sends _his_ TA down to knock some sense into the kid downstairs.

Walker slips away with a challenging glance at Tallmadge, and Washington decidedly does _not_ notice von Steuben watching Walker walk away.

When Walker returns empty-handed though (to Tallmadge’s visibly smug delight), Washington reluctantly decides to take matters into his own hands. Which, in all likelihood, means walking halfway across campus to tech support in the Union, but he’ll at least make a point of detouring downstairs first.

There’s a hapless student in front of him in line at the window behind which a single young man sits amidst a sea of computer screens. A.Ham helps her recover a forgotten password, sends her off, pulls a professional smile that’s halfway to a grimace, turns to Washington, and asks, “How can I help you?”

“The poli-sci department is experiencing some tech frustration, and sending our TAs down to help remedy that frustration only seems to be exacerbating it, Mister…” he looks at the name on the badge pinned to a rumpled button-up, “Hamilton.”

He straightens and his eyes narrow. “Are you a Ben, too?”

“Excuse me?”

“You keep sending me prissy twinks named Ben.”

The only reason he manages to keep a straight face is that he’s evenly torn between laughing and shouting. He settles for a deadpan question. “Do I look like a prissy twink to you?”

“Nope, but you could be a stealth Ben.”

Washington rolls his eyes heavenward and counts to ten in his head. “Professor Washington. _George_ Washington. Can you help me figure out why I am suddenly unable to access the department’s journals and syllabi and other _very valuable_ course materials, or should I -?”

“ _Oh_ ,” Hamilton cuts him off, and then hastily smacks a few buttons on his open laptop. “No, you’re good. Glitch in a system upgrade. Been happening all over campus, everything should be restored now.”

Washington works his jaw in silent frustration for a moment. “Ah ha. And you couldn’t assist Mister Tallmadge or Mister Walker with this because…?”

“I hadn’t figured it out yet?” He stares, unimpressed. “They were shit at explaining the problem?”

“Son.”

“A friend of mine took your class last year and said you were just my type so I was hoping to lure you down here in person eventually by playing idiot with everyone else.” It’s just ridiculous enough to be believable, is the thing. “See, there was method to the madness.”

“You’re rather brazen.”

“Yup.”

“And shameless.”

“Yup.”

“And not at _all_ modest.”

“Nope.”

“Who’s your friend?”

Hamilton frowns. “If I told you that, sir, I’d have to kill you.” He pauses and reconsiders. “Or he’d kill me. Either way. Suboptimal outcome.”

“Hm.” He takes a drawn out moment to look the young man up and down – as best he can over the counter in front of his desk, anyway. If for no other reason than to enjoy the pink flush that settles in his cheeks. “Are you a student?”

“Not here.”

“Hm,” he repeats. “I’m afraid you’re not quite _my_ type, Mister Hamilton.”

Dark, earnest eyes blink coyly up at him. “We could find out.”

Washington glances around the empty hall, and then beckons him forward. Hamilton leans over the counter, and Washington puts his mouth by his ear and murmurs, “I prefer _initiative_ over trickery, Mister Hamilton.”

And he walks away.

By the time he gets upstairs, he’s got a new email from tech support waiting in his inbox.


End file.
